Blaine's First Day At McKinley High
by GlassParade
Summary: ...the long title is "Blaine's First Day At McKinley High OR, Done To Death: The Perils of Trope Abuse." Cracky parody general ensemble fluff silliness set on Blaine's first day at his new school.


**Blaine's First Day At McKinley High**

**or**

**Done To Death: The Perils of Trope Abuse**

_This is straight up crack. It is a parody. It is what happens when you take every inaccuracy, cliché, trope, bad writing trick and wishful thought you've ever had while writing Glee fanfic and shove it into one single story._

_And then exaggerate it._

_Rated T for language._

_Dedicated with love to the Gleefic readers and writers at the TWoP forums._

At the end of his first day at William McKinley High School, everyone was surprised when Blaine showed up for Glee rehearsal clad in the same clothing he'd arrived to school in that morning, with nary a single colored ice fleck to mar his person.

Puck spoke first. "Fuck," he muttered, a dark look on his face. "Dude." He cracked his knuckles menacingly. Blaine widened his eyes and took a step back out of the choir room doorway.

Finn actually twitched at the sparkling clean appearance of the shortest boy in school. Seriously, he was just so _tiny. _And _clean._ "I have this weird urge to go get a Slushie and dump it on your head myself," he confessed, slightly shamefaced. "Sorry, man. It's just not right."

"No worries," Blaine replied, looking supremely dapper in a navy blue cardigan and bright red long sleeved t-shirt over gray slacks, his hair plastered firmly down and his eyes wide and earnest. "I mean, don't do it or I'll kneecap you, but no worries. Red Vines?" He proffered a blue plastic package of candy to the enormous football player, who quietly demurred.

Kurt, perched on the top row of the risers gossiping with Mercedes, looked up at his boyfriend and squeezed his eyes shut, as if in pain. "Your first day in public school in two years and _this _is what you wear?"

Blaine looked down at his outfit in bemusement. "What? It's not a nice outfit? This cardigan is Calvin Klein, Kurt!"

"Look at it more closely, dear," was the exasperated reply. The dapper little tenor did, and a look of comprehension began to spread across his face, followed closely by a sheepish expression.

"It's like a security blanket, I guess," he explained with a blush. "Don't hate."

The fashionable young teen sighed. "As if I could. Get up here." As Blaine scrambled up the risers, Kurt turned to his stepbrother, a patented expression of bitchery firmly in place. "Finn. Would you actually have Slushied my boyfriend?"

"I wouldn't _like_ doing it," the quarterback hedged, squirming. "But just look at him! He's totally gay and out about it, he doesn't play any sports yet, and he's in Glee. How did he manage to stay _clean_? It's not right. You know it's not right, Kurt."

Kurt did know, though he'd go to his grave denying it. The glasz-eyed youngster would also go to his grave denying that he'd felt even the slightest urge to Slushie his pristine boyfriend himself. He turned to ask Blaine an important question instead. "Had you thought about joining any sports teams?"

Blaine looked thoughtful. "Do you have an intramural furniture jumping team here?"

"Er, no."

"Then no, I hadn't." Blaine pulled out his Physics textbook. "I guess I'll get to working on my homework while we're waiting. Do you want to do yours with me?"

Kurt blinked in confusion. "Home...work?"

"Yeah. You remember, we had it at Dalton? You do your homework and then throw it in the air while singing a Top 40 a cappella number that everyone magically seems able to join in on spontaneously?"

"Oh, that!" Kurt's face brightened in remembrance. "Yeah, we don't do that here. We don't even go to class that often. Are they still offering classes? They must, since you have that textbook. Unless you just _found_ it somewhere?"

"No, no, an actual teacher gave it to me. That was confusing in and of itself. You seem to have more than one teacher here. That's...going to take getting used to." Blaine frowned at his assignment. "You're sure there's no furniture jumping or homework hurling?"

"Sorry babe." The taller boy pulled out the latest Vogue and buried his nose in it.

Blaine shrugged and opened his textbook. Odd. It appeared to be blank. Maybe they really didn't do a lot of studying here. He flipped through more pages. Nothing. Holding it up to Kurt, he asked, "Hey, does this seem weird to you?"

The countertenor spared no more than a brief glance at the book before returning to his magazine. "No," he replied curtly, more interested in the new McQueen tribute line slated for the fall shows.

Turning to Puck, Blaine tried again. "Hey, Puck, is this normal? There's nothing in this textbook."

"Fuck, dude. Legit." the Mohawked delinquent replied genially, shaking his head and holding a fisted hand out towards Blaine. The Hobbitlike teenager complied with the unspoken request, leaning down to give Puck a brotherly fist-bump, a bemused look on his face.

"Kurt? Does Puck know any other words?" he inquired in a gentle whisper, prodding his boyfriend in the side of his elaborately buckle and strap festooned jacket.

"Oh, my Gaga, who even knows," the elf-like, porcelain skinned boy answered airily, waving a blithe hand in the air. "Not that I've heard him say anything else. But who'd want to have an extended enough conversation to find out?"

"Legit," Puck agreed amiably from his chair, nodding his head suavely.

The transfer student shrugged and leaned back into his own seat, laying his arm across the back of Kurt's chair, making the other boy glance up and smile at him. "So," Kurt began conversationally, flipping his magazine closed. "Is that an industrial sized tube of hair gel in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

"Both, actually," Blaine replied cheerfully, extracting the product and setting to ensuring that his voluminous curls were still shellacked firmly to his head. Meanwhile, Rachel Berry had stomped into the choir room and suddenly stood in front of the two boys, hands on her argyle-skirted hips.

"Yes, Rachel?" Kurt asked when the tiny diva only stood there glaring at Blaine. She directed her glare at him for only a moment before returning her attention to the tenor.

"Blaine Warbler, are you half-Asian?" she demanded rudely.

Blaine thought about it. "I'm not sure," he replied honestly. "It actually hasn't been explicitly stated. Ever."

The extremely tiny girl with the large eyes huffed, stomped her foot, and raged out of the choir room in a patented diva storm-out. Blaine looked around the room. "Was it something I said?"

Kurt shrugged. "Probably. You said something other than 'hello' or 'that outfit is not entirely hideous,' so she took offense."

His boyfriend was amazed. "But I just answered her question. I didn't have to. It was a really rude question, but I answered it anyway."

"Whitegirl will storm out of a room at the drop of a fancy hat," Mercedes advised around a mouthful of tater tots, nodding sagely.

Just then, Santana breezed in, Brittany in tow. "We talking about RuPaul Manhands out there? She just stomped past me like she heard there was a knee sock sale going on at the Short and Dwarfy Emporium. What'd you say to her, Frodo?"

"I just answered her question!" shouted Blaine in exasperation. "You are _all insane_, did you know that?"

"You're one to talk," the Latina retorted, settling Brittany gently into a chair and handing her a lollipop shaped like a duck. The blonde cheerleader beamed up at her friend, who dropped a soft kiss on her forehead before turning to Blaine, a smirk twisting the corner of her mouth upwards. "I heard you actually let a teacher not only give you a textbook, but _assign you homework_. Is that what they do at your fancy prep schools, Shorty McHelmethair?"

Blaine was apopletic with fury. He was _not_ that short. And he _liked _his hair to be tidy. As he opened his mouth to say as much, Kurt placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Razor blades, remember?" he reminded his boyfriend. "Best to just let it go."

"How'd she even know who Frodo Baggins _is_?" Blaine grumbled.

"Because of Sam." It was Quinn answering the question in an acidly sharp tone as she sashayed into the room, glaring around with a bitchy look that just dared anyone to say anything to her at all. "Anyone who's ever had the misfortune to date Sam has had to watch 'Lord of the Rings' at least once."

"We didn't get to before he moved away," Mercedes mourned, shoveling more tots into her mouth. "Uh, not that we were dating. Ever."

Everyone just looked confused. At least Brittany and Finn were used to it. Finn broke the awkward silence. "Quinn, aren't you going to sit next to me?"

The blonde glanced at him coolly. "It's Rachel's turn this week. She beat me at Rock Paper Scissors."

"Oh." Finn frowned. "I can never keep track of who I'm supposed to be dating."

"_Quelle surprise_," Kurt muttered.

More choir members were trickling into the room, getting ready for rehearsal. Artie wheeled in and slapped high-fives with all the guys. Rachel stomped back in, yelled at Finn for no clear reason whatsoever, smacked Puck upside the head ("Dude! Fuck!"), quit Glee, and raged back out. Lauren came in double-fisting king sized Snickers bars and sat down to heap verbal abuse on Puck between bites ("Fuck!"). Mike and Tina were behind her, tongues down each others' throats and all but tearing their clothing off. It made the whole room visibly uncomfortable to look at them.

The Asian girl pulled her head away from her boyfriend with an audible 'pop' and slurping noise, looking around the room with interest. "Hey everyone..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes landed on Blaine and took in his immaculate, unruffled appearance. A high pitched squeak of confused dismay escaped her lips before she turned and fled the room, leaving Mike to mope forlornly over to a seat by himself next to Blaine.

"Hey, New Asian," the other Asian mumbled morosely.

"Why is everyone assuming I'm Asian?" Blaine wondered. "Do you all know something that no one's told me yet?"

A shrug went around the room. "We just assumed, really," Finn said. "We jump to conclusions a lot." His face lit up as Rachel stomped back into the room, apparently having decided to rejoin Glee. "Rach!"

"Finn, I don't feel like you've been the supportive boyfriend I need during my time of difficulty, so I'm conceding possession of you to Quinn for the rest of the week."

"Wait, what difficulty?" Finn was so very, very confused.

"I don't want him," Quinn announced, alarmed. "I have plans. Plans that don't involve trying to avoid being stepped on by Frankenteen the Quarterback."

"Hey, kids!" Mr. Schuester arrived just in time to interrupt the brewing argument over who would be forced to take custody of Finn. ("You take him!" "No, seriously, Rachel, he is _all _yours.") The Spanish teacher was clapping his hands and sporting a hideous sweater vest. A cheery smile spread across his face as he spotted Blaine, tube of hair gel still in hand. "Blaine! Welcome to New Directions! Is there enough of that hair product to spare?"

Blaine looked at the three foot tube and shook his head. "Er, no, sorry. This is really just enough to get me through tomorrow."

"Oh." The choir director was disappointed. "Well, since you're here, why don't you audition for us?"

"Doesn't everyone get in anyway?" The short, cardigan-wearing, hair gel abusing, suspiciously clean former prep school student looked around the room. "I mean, you've all seen me perform at Sectionals _and_ Regionals. I'm a pretty hot commodity, actually."

"Yeah, and your team _lost_, Gimli," Santana sneered as Blaine bristled. "So why don't you gets to steppin', or do I needs to be getting all Lima Heights Adjacent on your dwarfy ass?"

"I thought I was a Hobbit?" At the ferocious ex-cheerleader's threatening glare, Blaine relented. "Fine, whatever." He stood up and went to pick up a guitar. The members of New Directions all exchanged baffled glances.

"Oh, Blaine, do you play guitar?" Kurt was intrigued. His tiny little Warbler of a boyfriend hadn't said _anything_ about this. Of course, he hadn't said much of anything over the summer at all, come to think; they'd been too busy making out 24-7. It was hard to talk with someone's tongue down your throat, he surmised.

The tenor gazed in surprise at the instrument in his hand. "Actually, _no._ I'm not sure what I was thinking. Sorry. I _do_ play piano. But it looks like you have a piano player already."

"He's just furniture," Santana shrugged.

"Do _not_ jump on Tinkles, Blaine," Kurt interjected hastily, glaring at the mischievous brunette in the front row. "He is _not_ actually furniture."

"My name is Brad, thank you," huffed the piano player.

"No one cares," Santana informed him, causing the man to sulk.

"I care." Blaine placed a compassionate hand on the man's shoulder, smiling reassuringly at him. "I care, Brad. Courage!"

"What?"

"Exactly." The hyper little ex-Daltonbot handed Brad a sheaf of sheet music. "Do you suppose you could play this for me?"

"Sure," replied the piano player. "The jazz band can play along, too."

"You guys know this?" Blaine was astonished. The leader of the brass section shrugged.

"We know everything, man."

Brittany pointed at the jazz band in shock. "That guy said something! They're not supposed to say things! They're just supposed to play music when we need it!" Clearly, she was distressed.

"It's okay, B." Santana patted her arm. "It won't happen again. _Will it_, Trumpet Guy?" Her glare was so ferocious that the student just meeped in terror and nodded. The bitchy Latina allowed a catlike smile to cross her lips. "Aight, Blainers. Hop to."

The extremely tightly coiffed senior nodded at the pianist and jazz band, who struck up a melancholy introduction.

_Underneath these stairs  
>I hear the sneers and feel glares of<br>My cousin, my uncle and my aunt.  
><em>

_Can't believe how cruel they are  
>And it stings my lighting scar<br>To know that they'll never ever give me what I want._

_I know I don't deserve these_  
><em>Stupid rules made by the Dursleys<em>  
><em>Here on Privet drive.<em>

_Can't take all of these muggles,  
>But despite all of my struggles,<br>I'm still alive._

Mr. Schuester frowned. "I'm not sure I'm familiar with this song." Everyone shushed him as Blaine continued on, the slow ballad shifting into a more upbeat tune that led to Blaine's first flying leap of the number, scattering show choir members and plastic chairs everywhere.

By now, of course, everyone (except Mr. Schue, because he had a medical condition that had rendered him actually incapable of acknowledging any music produced after 1990) recognized the song. Blaine had the entirety of New Directions nodding and smiling and singing along, because they'd all spent many hours of their lives watching a particular set of videos on YouTube and commenting on how _remarkable_ it was, the resemblance between Kurt's occasionally curly haired and always dapper boyfriend and the boy playing the lead role in the videos.

_I'm sick of summer and this waiting around.  
>Man, it's September, and I'm skipping this town<br>Hey It's no mystery, there's nothing here for me now_

_I gotta get back to Hogwarts,_  
><em>I gotta get back to school.<em>  
><em>Gotta get myself to Hogwarts,<em>  
><em>Where everybody knows I'm cool.<em>

Blaine leaped to the top of the piano and launched into an impromptu tap routine (Rachel, of course, was unable to refrain from pointing out that "this is not in the original show choreography, Blaine Warbler," and got called Treasure Trail, Short Stack, and Fuck Dude Legit by Quinn, Santana, and Puck respectively).

"Jesus Tapdancing Christ!"

The sacrilegious exclamation came from the doorway, emitted by one Sue Sylvester. The alarmingly tracksuited cheerleading coach strode into the room, her face set in her perpetual scowl.

"No, Coach Sylvester, not Jesus, that's Blaine," Finn explained earnestly. "He's new. I think Jesus is taller anyway."

"Spare me your hamfisted burblings, Lurch McGee." Sue strolled up to Mr. Schue and jabbed him in the chest with her pointy, pointy finger. "William, did you happen to purchase stock in a cloning laboratory?"

"Of course not, Sue. " The Glee Club adviser rolled his eyes. "My budget can't even afford new costumes for the club, let alone stock in – wait a minute, why do you ask?"

The imposing woman pointed up at Blaine, who was still perched atop the piano, waiting patiently to continue his audition. "Because that's the second teenager in two years that I've seen who could pass for your offspring. A singing, dancing, be-sweatered nuisance of a Beta Male with a disgusting amount of deluded charm and a disturbing fetish for cheap hair product. " She narrowed her eyes speculatively and took a closer look at Blaine. "Although I think you should get your money back on this one, he came out a lot shorter than the other one."

Blaine took a deep breath. "I am of a perfectly acceptable height, thank - " But his indignant tirade was cut off as soon as it began by a colorfully icy liquid assault that drenched him from head to toe.

Nobody moved. For several long seconds the only sounds in the room were the dripping of Slushie from the cuffs of a CK cardigan to the polished piano top and Blaine's shocked, sharp breathing.

"Bitchslap...iceberg..." the brightly colored midget tenor gasped, wiping frantically at his designer sweater. Everyone spun to face the attacker. Jaws dropped in shock.

_Tina_ stood there, looking clearly horrified at herself, empty Slushie cups dripping in each hand. "I'm so sorry," she gasped. "I just couldn't _take_ it. _He was so clean_."

**_Author's Note: _**_I'm sorry. I'm SO sorry. Indignant rage can be directed to my Tumblr: glass-parade dot Tumblr dot com. I don't own Glee or AVPM._


End file.
